Night.
(A Picture by E. Burne Jones.)
White stars come out in darkening blue of skies,1
White foam upon the blue of darkening seas,2
And the surf’s murmur moans along the breeze3
Filled with faint echoes as of far-off cries4
Repeating “ Vanity of Vanities,5
All, all is vanity ;” and hearing these6
Night stands upon the threshold of the leas,7
Blue-clad, with fair slow hands and slumbrous eyes.8
And the wind blows to her across the deep9
The voice of the dead Day, “ O fairest one,10
Nought good was there in me from star to star,11
And hast thou any between sun and sun ?”12
So comes the cry ; and from her height afar13
Night whispers back, “ There is no good but sleep.”14